Screen Time
by DragonSilhouette
Summary: Moments in the Doom Manor. Drabble collection. Marked complete until I regain inspiration/season 2 comes out.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:** Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary:** Moments in the Doom Manor. Drabble collection.

**Author's Note:** Have taken some artistic liberties with the canon for the purposes of this fic. Also, I'm not actually a movie buff so please point out any inaccuracies you see and I'll try to fix it. I wrote this because there's not enough Doom Patrol fics.

Will mostly only have Rita, Larry, Jane (+64 others), and Cliff. Vic will be in a few, but he's only been part of the team since 2019, so he won't be here much.

**Russian translation by Sathe available at (erase the brackets and spaces):** fanfiction (.net) / s/13368666/

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Introduction**

* * *

The Sixties and the Seventies are a dark time for the residents of the Caulder house. For two decades, the only movies they are allowed to watch at home are the ones that Rita Farr stars in because she stashed all the others in a secret location and refuses to let anyone watch anything but her movies.

Larry tolerates this status quo for a long time because he understands, he really does. God knows she's not the only one in this house tormented by what they can't have, what had been torn from them by their respective _incidents_. But even he can only hold out for so long. In 1979, he cracks and manages to get a hold of a VCR and starts a black market of non-Rita Farr movies from his bedroom. He sets up secret movie nights every Wednesday at 3 AM for the other residents because they deserve a break too. Rita finds out about it a couple of years later. After a big fight in which Larry's little houseguest leaves his body four times and Rita melts into a large blob, they settle on a compromise: They can watch other movies, but they must watch at least one Rita Farr movie once a week.

Rita learns to enjoy movies that don't have her in them.

Larry memorizes the dialogue of every single Rita Farr movie.

Cliff discovers movies he never would have otherwise watched.

Jane expands the others' taste in movies by smuggling in DVD players, flat screen TVs, and convincing Chief to subscribe to Netflix.

This is their routine for the next few decades. Other residents come and go, but this is the one thing that doesn't change. For dangerous people like them, movies are the only safe way of temporarily escaping from the confines of the manor grounds, vicariously living through the characters on the screen. It's their little window into life in the outside world. (Well, Jane and her personalities leave all the time, but they always seem to find themselves back at the manor.)

Everything is fine and dandy until the Chief gets himself kidnapped by a villain and sends everything to hell. But that happens in 2019. Most of the stories in this drabble collection happen way before 2019, so let's not get into that. On with the story!


	2. Desert Heart, starring Rita Farr

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **But why is it called _Desert Heart_?

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Desert Heart, starring Rita Farr**

* * *

**January 14, 2001 / 7:34 PM**

Rita huffs. "You are looking too much into this. Audrey is simply a troubled, multifaceted girl full of contradictions. She does not have a split personality."

Larry isn't backing down. "But _look_. She had a mental breakdown, left her boyfriend, quit her job, cut off her hair, moved to Canada, and lived in the woods as a hermit. Then she changes and suddenly she wants to go back to the city and rebuild her old life and halfway there she has another breakdown and moves back to the woods and it repeats. The two personalities are obviously fighting control for the body."

"Just because people have different ways of coping with the stresses of urban life, doesn't mean they have a split personality, Larry."

"I gotta go with Larry on this, and I say this as someone who shares her body with sixty-four personalities," Jane drawls from her corner of the couch. She turns up the volume to drown out Rita and Larry's argument. On the TV, Audrey is passionately monologuing about the merits of city life and how much she regrets becoming a hermit.

Cliff, sitting on the special steel-framed armchair Chief had bought for him, tries to daydream about literally anything else but the movie. This is the forty-seventh time he's watched _Desert Heart_, and god knows how many times Rita made Larry and Jane watch this movie, yet somehow they find something in the movie to argue about every single time. Personally, he agrees with Larry and Jane—Rita's character definitely has a split personality—but in his opinion, there are much more pressing questions that they should be discussing. Like, why is it called _Desert Heart_ when it takes place in the fucking tundra half the time?

"Oh yeah? Then why is it called Desert Heart when it takes place in the Canadian tundra half the time?" Larry fires at Rita.

"The title refers to Audrey's passionate search for meaning!"

Cliff has to roll his eyes. "The fuck does that mean?"

Rita sighs dramatically. "Oh, Lord save me from these philistines..."


	3. The Silence of the Lambs

**Disclaimer:** Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **"Being uncomfortable in your own skin ain't a good reason to become a monster and hurt other people."

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**Chapter 3**

**The Silence of the Lambs**

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**February 14, 1993 / 7:10 PM**

Hammerhead is the one to introduce Rita, Larry, and Cliff to _The Silence of the Lambs._

"It won a bunch of awards, so the cinema bitch can shut up and let me enjoy Hannibal Lecter." Hammerhead pushes Rita and Larry apart so they can sit between the two on the couch.

"Yes, let us enjoy this psychological thriller for Valentine's Day," Rita sniffs. She's sulking dramatically in her corner of the couch because they usually watch _My Heart Longs For You_, starring Rita Farr, for Valentine's Day. She insists on it every year, and the other residents don't care enough to fight her about it. Until now.

Hammerhead takes Rita's bowl of buttery popcorn from the coffee table and places it on their lap. It is clear they have no intention of sharing it. "If I hear another word from you, I will punch your stretchy little throat out."

Rita wisely shuts up. Larry gets up to make more popcorn.

Cliff stares at the cover of the tape. "Why does she have a moth on her mouth?"

"You'll fucking find out in the movie, you fucking stupid pile of fucking scrap metal. Now shut your fucking mouth, I'm trying to watch this shit."

Agent Starling is attempting to interrogate Hannibal Lecter when Larry returns with a pot of popcorn for Rita. He sits down beside Hammerhead and winces when they punch his arm for disturbing them.

The movie is quite good. Rita is enthralled by performance of Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins, Larry is transfixed by the hunt for Buffalo Bill, Hammerhead is amused when Lecter escapes from his cell in a spectacularly violent manner, and Cliff is trying not to think about his daughter being in the same situation as those poor, poor girls with the moths in their mouths.

Hammerhead switches with Jane when the movie ends. Jane takes one look at the title of the movie and goes on a spiel about Buffalo Bill and how he's so, so disturbing, even for her.

"Like, okay, so you're denied a sex reassignment surgery. That sucks, but that doesn't give you the fucking right to trap innocent girls down a goddamn well."

Cliff carefully takes the popcorn bowl from Jane's lap and sets it on the coffee table with Rita's empty pot. "Yeah. Being uncomfortable in your own skin ain't a good reason to become a monster and hurt other people."

"Some of us can't help it," Rita snaps.

A moment of silence. Rita cups her melting left cheek and turns her face.

Finally, Larry says softly, "You know he didn't mean it like that."

"… Yes." Taking a deep breath, Rita regains control and looks at Cliff in the eye. "I misinterpreted and overreacted. I apologize, Cliff."

Cliff accepts the apology. "… You know you're not the same, right? The guy, he hurt those girls on purpose. You, you lock yourself away in this place so you don't hurt others. You don't hurt people… intentionally. So you're good. You're not the same. Anyone who says so can go fuck a cactus."

Rita is warmed by his words. "Cliff…"

Jane kicks the coffee table. "I hate to disturb this touching moment but the electric space thing left Larry again."


	4. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Cliff is a Ravenclaw. Or a Gryffindor. Either one.

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**Chapter 4**

**Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone**

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**September 1, 2019 / 8:54 PM**

On the TV, the Sorting Hat has just announced Harry Potter to be a Gryffindor. At the seating area in front of the TV, another sorting is taking place.

"I'm a Hufflepuff," Jane says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Baby Doll is a Hufflepuff too. Hammerhead is a Gryffindor, Flit is a Slytherin, the Hangman's Beautiful Daughter is a Ravenclaw, Black Annis…" She continues to sort each and every one of her sixty-four personalities into the Hogwarts houses without hesitation as the other residents of the manor stare at her in increasing concern and bewilderment. Finally, she ends her self-evaluation with, "… and, of course, Cliff is a Ravenclaw. Or a Gryffindor. Either one."

"… Okay." Cliff doesn't know what to do with this information.

Vic, on the other hand, stares at the robot. He doesn't know the rest of the team as well as they know each other, so maybe he's missing something here, but… "I can't see Cliff as a Ravenclaw, sorry."

Cliff creaks his head towards Vic. "Is that supposed to be insulting?"

"No, hear me out," Jane begins. "Cliff can be a Gryffindor because he was a car racer before he was a brain in a can, and car racers aren't usually pussies, what with the car crashes and all. Plus he faced down Rita as a giant blob, which takes some Gryffindor balls, I have to admit. And he can be a Ravenclaw because…" Jane turns to Cliff. "You seek answers, yeah? Answers about your daughter?"

Cliff stiffens. Vic senses that this is a rather sensitive subject.

"Yeah, you do," Jane continues as if she didn't just drag the conversation into an emotional minefield. "And isn't that what Ravenclaw is all about? Pursuit of knowledge? 'Course, if you just grew some _more_ Gryffindor balls and fucking called your daughter…"

"Jane…"

Jane shrugs. "And that scale model train set of yours is actually pretty impressive. Bet you had to learn a lot of new technical shit to build that thing."

Wanting to change the topic, Vic turns to Larry. "What about you, huh? Gryffindor? Hufflepuff?"

"Not a Hufflepuff," Larry says flatly, and Vic twitches at stumbling onto another sensitive subject. Maybe he shouldn't have chosen _Harry Potter _for movie night after all.

"Of course not," Rita says hastily, placing a comforting hand on the bandaged man's arm. "Mr. Air Force Pilot is obviously a Gryffindor."

Vic nods at Rita thankfully.

The actress fluffs her hair proudly. "And I am a Ravenclaw, as evidenced by my sharp wit and creativity in the cinema."

"And Vic is a Slytherin," Cliff adds.

Vic jolts. "What? No! I'm not evil! I'm a hero!"

Jane rolls her eyes. "Slytherin has nothing to do with being evil, dumbass. You're a wannabe leader who wants to prove yourself to your dad and shit—you're ambitious. Slytherin."

"… Oh my god, I'm a Slytherin."

"Yeah."

* * *

**Author's Note:** How would _you_ sort them?


	5. Brokeback Mountain

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Gaaaaaayyyyyyngst.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Brokeback Mountain**

* * *

**February 13, 2007 / 1:25 AM**

The living room is silent, with only the barest hints of moonlight peeking through the curtained windows. A bandaged man wearing a dark green turtleneck under a heavy brown coat dozes on the couch. The muted TV shows an overly enthusiastic woman caressing a blender.

The Negative Spirit quietly pops out of Larry's body and floats over to the bookshelf that holds the manor's large collection of movies. Its electric fingers paw through the DVD cases, occasionally taking one out to read the synopsis on the back. Eventually, it finds what it is looking for and hovers in front of the TV. It slides _Brokeback Mountain_ into the DVD player, fast forwards the movie, unmutes the TV, and returns to Larry's body.

A moment later, Larry stirs, opening his eyes at the sound of dialogue. He shakes off the telltale static that always follows the Negative Spirit returning to his body and blearily stares at the two gay men arguing on screen.

_"We could've have a good life together, fuckin' real good life…"_

Oh yes, he is quite familiar with this movie. Rita had been very enthusiastic when it first came out. He glares at his chest. "This isn't funny."

A small crackle on his wrist, but nothing more.

_"It's because of you that I'm like this… I'm nothing… I'm nowhere..."_

Larry turns off the TV and goes back to his room.


	6. The Human Centipede (First Sequence)

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary:** _The Human Centipede_ is suggested by Jane because she is a horrible, horrible person whose curiosity has finally doomed them all.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**The Human Centipede (First Sequence)**

* * *

**August 8, 2011 / 4:12 PM **

_The Human Centipede_ is suggested by Jane because she is a horrible, horrible person whose curiosity has finally doomed them all.

It is clear right from the beginning that _The Human Centipede_ is, as Rita calls it, an abomination of the highest order.

"Why would anyone want to make this film?" Rita turns her head in disgust as the characters crawl around in a rather… _uncomfortable…_ fashion. She feels a good chunk of her will to live withering away in the face of such depravity.

Larry cautiously puts a hand on his stomach, desperately trying not to throw up. He truly does not want to choke on his own vomit. He reconsiders his options when he sees what's happening on the screen. If he's lucky, maybe he can choke to death and not have to watch this anymore.

"Why the fuck are we still watching this?" Cliff asks. Watching this movie hurt his brain, and he can't exactly afford to damage the only non-replaceable part of himself. "It's so goddamn awful, not even Rita's acting can salvage this."

Rita sniffs. "Please. I would rather shoot myself in the head than star in this… this… _monstrosity._"

Off to the side, Jane rocks back and forth in a fetal position, pulling her hair, wishing desperately for another personality to take over. Unfortunately, they had more common sense than that and were perfectly content to let Jane suffer in the hell of her own making. "_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—"_

"Where is the remote?" Rita looks around and lifts a couch cushion. "… I cannot find the remote."

This sends everyone into a minor panic.

The Negative Spirit decides it can't stand being in the same room as the wretched movie anymore and mercifully sets the DVD player on fire on its way out of Larry's body.

Everyone (except Larry) breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Don't watch Human Centipede. Don't even read the Wikipedia article. My so-called friends introduced me to this movie and I needed about twelve gallons of brain bleach to recover from the experience.


	7. Macbeth, starring Rita Farr

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **_"Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts..."_

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Macbeth, starring Rita Farr**

* * *

**November 22, 1965 / 11:51 PM**

In the dark living room, a movie projector whirs as it projects a film onto a screen. Two figures, a man and a woman, share a couch while commenting on the performances in hushed tones. Well, the woman is commenting, the man is mostly silent, only occasionally voicing his own thoughts to prove he's still listening.

_"Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!'"_

Rita gazes appreciatively at her past self, who is absolutely nailing her part as Lady Macbeth on the screen. "Lady Macbeth has always been one of my favourite Shakespeare characters. And to think I was the director's second choice for the part. Second choice!"

"What an idiot." Larry rests his head on a hand perched on the armrest. He ignores the slight twinge of pain from the action.

"The hoop skirt was a pain, but look at me move! You'd think I've been wearing them all my life."

"So graceful."

"My co-star, the man playing Macbeth, he is a total buffoon, but I have to admit he's a superb actor. The last I heard from him, he just got cast as the lead in a major action movie." She falters, the right side of her face sagging as a sudden wave of despair washed over her at the reminder that she will never act again. She tries to recover.

"Did you know my portrayal of Lady Macbeth is widely considered to be one of the most memorable acting performances in recent memory?"

Larry nods. "Yes. You've only told me this nineteen times." Pulling a small notepad and a pen from his coat, he adds a tally at a page marked _Memorable Lady Macbeth_. He pretends not to notice her loss of control. "Twenty now."

Rita shushes him. She shakes off the melancholy, stands up, and mirrors her character on the film. Her face steadily reforms as she passionately delivers Lady Macbeth's soliloquy.

_"Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood, stop up the access and passage to remorse…"_

Larry shakes his head but smiles fondly beneath his bandages.


	8. Jean de Florette

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Money, wealth, power, even the promise of safety—these things can drive people to be more terrible, more evil, more _monstrous_ than even the monsters of the manor.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Jean de Florette**

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**October 1, 1998 / 7:00 PM**

Cliff sits unnaturally still as the movie credits roll across the screen. The movie strikes a chord with him.

_Jean de Florette_ is a movie about greed, selfishness, and ignorance. It reminds him that just because he and the others have locked themselves away from the world, does not mean the world hasn't stopped being a cruel place. Often, they justify their decision to stay in the manor by convincing themselves it is to protect the world from their freakishness—and, to be fair, it _is_ partly that. (God knows what will happen if Rita starts stressing out in a public space, or if someone provokes one of Jane's more hostile personalities.) But the other reason they stay in the manor is to protect _themselves_ from the world.

There are people in the world who are less dangerous than Rita, but are still treated like monsters.

There are people in the world who are less disfigured than Larry, but are still treated like freaks.

There are people in the world who are less unpredictable than Jane, but are still treated like weirdos.

There are people in the world who are less artificial than Cliff, but are still treated like pariahs.

There are people in the world who are good at heart, but because they are different, they are treated as something to be destroyed, isolated, kept away from society. No one is willing to help them, to show compassion. (Cliff remembers a time when he couldn't even do the most basic things for himself, things he had once taken for granted, when he needed help just climbing a small set of stairs.)

The story of _Jean de Florette_ is a reminder that the world isn't nearly as understanding, as patient, as accommodating to differences as them. While the residents of the manor have learned that money isn't everything—it is, in fact, the _least_ important thing in the world to them—the outside world isn't nearly as wise. Money, wealth, power, even the promise of safety—these things can drive people to be more terrible, more evil, more _monstrous_ than even the monsters of the manor. (Cliff doesn't fully know everyone's pasts, but he knows Rita was once institutionalized, and Larry was once in the care of something called the "bureau". He senses that they weren't particularly pleasant experiences.)

Cliff mulls the movie over a bit more, and decides he doesn't like thinking about deep and depressing shit. He puts on one of Rita's movies. _Martians Attack!_ is always hilarious.

* * *

**Author's note: **Sorry it's a bit meh.


	9. Toy Story

**Disclaimer:** Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary:** It isn't fair to Clara, and it isn't fair to Baby Doll.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Toy Story**

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**August 7, 2005 / 3:39 PM**

"Trust me, you are gonna love this." Cliff carefully slides the DVD into the slot and settles onto his special chair. Baby Doll giggles from the couch. It's just the two of them today. The Chief is out, Rita is knitting in her room and Larry is outside watering his daisies. Baby Doll is one of his favourite personalities, but he rarely gets to spend time alone with her, so he's going to take this chance to bond with her over a movie. He remembers watching _Toy Story_ with Jane when they first got a hold of the DVD, and she gave it her seal of approval. What's good enough for Jane, is good enough for Baby Doll.

Baby Doll oohs and ahhs appropriately at Andy's toys going about their shenanigans as the story unfolds, bouncing on the couch when she sees something she likes. She is enthralled at Woody and Buzz's quest to go home when they are accidentally left behind by Andy's family. Watching her delighted face, Cliff feels a warm, familiar feeling welling up inside him…

For a split second, he sees Clara Steele instead of Baby Doll.

He stiffens.

No. He can't do this. It isn't fair to Clara, and it isn't fair to Baby Doll.

Rising from his chair, he babbles some lame excuse about needing to oil his joints and flees the room.

After Cliff leaves, Baby Doll's smile turns sad. A ripple runs through her body as a rarely-seen personality emerges to the surface.

She pulls her knees up and silently watches the rest of the movie.


	10. The Big Short

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **The Chief Contemplates.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**The Big Short**

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**February 10, 2019 / 2:49 AM**

An old man with far older eyes sits on a wheelchair in the living room, enthralled by the unfolding story of _The Big Short_ depicted on the large television set "gifted" to the manor by Jane. On screen, Michael Burry's hedge fund makes billions from the housing market crash while thousands of others lose their jobs and homes. The other residents of the manor snooze in their beds, unaware of the heavy thoughts consuming Niles Caulder.

A growing sense of foreboding fills the Chief, a sense that everything he has planned, everything he has worked for, is all coming to an end soon. Mr. Nobody has been making some odd movements lately, likely plotting something of his own. He's playing a dangerous game—they _both_ are. Then again, Niles is no stranger to dangerous games (and neither is Eric Morden). He's played it before, with the Bureau of Normalcy and Oyewah, with the Doom Patrol, with the current residents of the manor. He always comes out on top. Sure, there might some… collateral damage along the way, but that doesn't matter. (They don't matter.)

Niles thinks he's rather like Michael Burry in that way. He knows that reaping the rewards will mean that many others have to suffer. It's not that he doesn't care—he _does, _no matter what anyone else says—it's just that… he cares about Dorothy more. He wishes that ensuring his daughter's well-being doesn't come at such a steep price, but, well, what can you do? It is what it is.

He briefly entertains the thought of sending the residents to Danny the Street. They would be safe from whatever Mr. Nobody has planned, he thinks. Or, at least, safer with them than here in the manor. Then he dismisses it. He has word that the Bureau is going to make a move on the sentient street soon, and Larry probably wouldn't react well to that.

Niles frowns, then mentally shrugs. Rita, Larry, Cliff, Jane… They're strong, they can take care of themselves. He has faith in them. They may not be the most heroic of people, but they're _survivors_, which already makes them leagues better than the Doom Patrol.

Niles steeples his fingers.

Dark days are coming.

No matter. It will all work out.

(They have to.)

(For Dorothy.)


	11. Monster House

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Danny looks to the future.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**Monster House**

* * *

**May 24, 2019 / 2:09 PM**

Larry sets down Danny the Brick and his currently miniscule friends on the coffee table in front of the television and puts on the first movie on the Netflix queue, which is _Monster House_. Then he locks the painting with Mr. Nobody and the Beard Hunter in a closet—they're a problem for another day. After making sure the others are cared for, placing a giant (relative to the tiny group) slice of cold pizza and a glass of water with a straw on Danny's surface, he leaves to find Kipling and Flex. Hopefully, one of them will know how to revert the others back to their normal size.

Jane rips herself a large piece of pizza and taps Danny with her foot. "Do you need any food?"

Danny carves out a message on the surface of the brick. _I gain strength from the happiness and well-being of my Dannyzens. As long as you are happy, I will be fine._

Larry had already apologized profusely for unleashing a nuclear blast on Danny and reducing them to a brick, but Danny doesn't blame him. It's either this, or be destroyed by a giant rat and cockroach. As far as they're concerned, this is the best possible outcome of the situation. Their Dannyzens are safe with Flex, and they will eventually heal.

A celebratory atmosphere fills the group, realizing that they have survived yet another wacky adventure and goddammit, they deserve to party after everything they've been through. Their elation and relief is a balm to Danny, who stamps a happy face on the side of the brick facing the television and settles down to watch the movie, drinking in the joy of the Doom Patrol.

Inspired by the movie, they cheerfully plan out their next incarnation. They've always liked the idea of bungalows. They will be like the Monster House, but kinder, more helpful. Hmm, yes, Danny the Bungalow does have a nice ring to it…


	12. 12 Angry Men

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Literally anyone but Karen. Please.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

**12 Angry Men**

* * *

**June 2, 1978 / 10:49 AM**

Jane determinedly ignores the ruckus in her head as _12 Angry Men_ plays on the screen. She immerses herself in the story of twelve jurors stuck in a stuffy room, debating the guilt or innocence of a boy accused of murdering his father.

In the Underground, eleven angry women bicker among each other. Multiple conversations happen all at once, but no one seems to be able to reach an agreement. Tempers flare, powers are abused, and the one level-headed woman in the room cannot be heard over the din of a blonde woman screeching about finally having her chance to find true love.

Finally, a twelfth woman marches into the emergency meeting place near the train, mad as hell. Her rage reaches its peak when she sees eleven useless personalities doing shit about the problem. Hammerhead's shock and grief over what happened to Miranda is still fresh, as she is the last of the personalities to receive the news.

She scans the crowd of unhelpful personalities and decides that if the Secretary isn't going to take charge, then she will.

"Hey fuckers!"

Hammerhead's booming voice shuts the others up. She waits a moment to make sure everyone is listening before continuing.

"Now, what the fuck is going on?"

The women exchange looks with each other before the Secretary steps up to explain. "We are deciding who is going to be the main primary."

Hammerhead frowns. "Who's up there right now?"

"Jane." Driller Bill crosses her arms. "But she says she's only doing it temporarily."

Silver Tongue huffs. "She's the only primary who's had experience topside. It has to be her."

"Except for… you know," Penny Farthing says nervously, which earns her vicious glares from all the personalities.

The Secretary's lips thin. "Out of the question."

Karen shoulders her way to the middle of the group. "I volunteer!"

The rest of the women blanch. "No!"

Flit scowls, popping a bubble gum in Karen's direction. "What are you even doing here? You're not invited."

Karen sniffs. "I invited myself."

Meanwhile, the Nun stares contemplatively at Dr. Harrison. The doctor stares back with her unnerving eyes. The Nun raises an eyebrow. "What about you, Dr. Harrison? You've been topside for an extended amount of time."

Dr. Harrison says calmly, "I am not a primary personality."

"… You can be if you want to."

Dr. Harrison's eyes widen, and the personalities descend into squabbling again.

Hammerhead swears and punches a wall to get their attention. "Focus!"

Lucy Fugue shakes her head. "It's no use. It has to be Jane. No one else can do it."

Hammerhead narrows her eyes at her. "Let's make one thing clear: no one's forcing Jane to do anything she doesn't want to."

The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter sighs, drawing the women's attention. "Duty is not always pleasant, and our duty is to protect Kay, above all else. Jane may hate being a main primary, but that does not change the fact that she is the best fit for the job. She must do her duty, for the good of the Underground." She tilts her head. "For _Kay_."

Her words shut down any opposition. No one can argue with that. If these twelve wildly different women have anything in common, it's their love and protectiveness over Kay. She is their purpose, after all.

Mama Pentecost breaks the silence. "The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter is right. Jane needs to do this for Kay."

Everyone looks at the Secretary. She thinks, then nods. "Dr. Harrison, talk to Jane. Make sure she knows she's doing it for Kay."

In the real world, Jane passes out just as the twelve jurors on the screen unanimously vote not guilty, saving the boy on trial from a death sentence.


	13. Popcorn Break: Chances Are

**Disclaimer:** Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary:** No more hiding.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is written by Sathe.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**Chances Are**

* * *

**May 19, 2019 / 9:30 PM**

A warm, quiet evening fell on a small forest village. In almost all the houses, a light breeze fluttered the curtains in the open windows. One bungalow seemed uninhabited. There were no bright umbrellas or comfortable garden furniture in the front yard, no colored potted flowers on the windowsills. Its windows were closed and its curtains were drawn. On the abandoned terrace outside the front door, two electric scooters were leaned against the wall with peeling paint.

However, people did, in fact, live in the bungalow.

The warm evening found Rita and Larry talking quietly over the muted evening news. On the screen, amidst the bright flashes of cameras, a famous actress waved to the public from the red carpet. Rita stopped abruptly in the middle of her spiel on the dangers of veganism, took a deep breath, and pressed her hand to her right cheek, which was beginning to melt treacherously. Larry saw her gesture and picked up the remote from the arm of the couch. He switched to another channel, which showed a jovial, strapping pilot saluting and climbing into the cramped cockpit of a military jet. Rita firmly took the remote from Larry's bandaged hands and turned off the TV.

"That is enough television for today," she said.

Larry leaned his head against the back of the couch, as Rita gulped down the rest of her martini and set the empty glass on the coffee table.

"There's always going to be something to remind us of the past, Rita," Larry said. "What's the point of turning off the TV? It's us. We just have to admit it and live with it... I mean, keep existing."

Rita stared straight without seeing.

"I don't want to just exist," she said gloomily. "It's time to stop hiding, Larry. That goes for you, too. For both of you."

Larry got up from the couch, walked around the small but cozy living room, opened the curtain a slight bit, looked out for a few seconds, then returned to the couch, but did not sit down.

"It takes my breath away to think about what the Chief did to us," he said angrily. "To think that the man to whom we thought we owed our lives was the monster who took those lives from us!"

"Larry, listen," Rita said, refilling her martini from the tall bottle on the table beside her. "It's not the worst thing that could have happened to us."

Larry was stunned. He spread his hands in disbelief and stared at Rita as she sipped from her glass. Finally, he was able to speak:

"You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

Rita smiled charmingly and patted the couch beside her. Larry sat down mechanically, still looking at her.

"While working on the 'Desert Heart', there was a pyrotechnician in our crew. He used to be a firefighter. His body was scarred, his face burned, he looked repulsive. He took handfuls of pills every day. He didn't socialize with anyone, avoided people. And guess what, Larry?"

"What?" Larry asked tensely, listening with bated breath.

"He died," Rita said, and took another sip of her martini. "He died, Larry. In his seventies. In the most ordinary way: he grew old and died."

Rita paused thoughtfully. Larry, who knew Rita rather well, was sure that there would be some conclusion, so he sat there without saying a word. Finally, Rita took another sip of her martini and continued:

"He lived the same lonely life as you did, but he didn't have a strange electrical friend from outer space. He knew diseases, infirmity, and he wasn't practically immortal," she said instructively. "A lot of people in the world are crippled and alone. Someone injured by an accident, someone – by other people. So don't think that you're something special. Nevertheless, we need to start thinking about these kinds of things, about what will happen to us if we give up and just... keep on existing, instead of living."

Larry leaned back on the couch. Through the mask of bandages covering his face, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but Rita knew Larry well enough to understand, that his thoughts were now wandering in the darkest corners of his memory, searching for answers. They were silent for a long time, listening to the muffled noise of the village outside the bungalow. It got dark. Rita reached for the tall floor lamp beside the couch and switched on the light. Larry spoke first:

"And if we don't give up, what will happen?"

"I don't know," Rita said. "But I saw an ad in the paper about a local school needing a drama teacher."

"Are you serious?" Larry sat up straight and looked at her. "And maybe I should be a flight instructor?"

"Not necessarily," Rita said softly. "You will find your own path. However, I think that your first step has to be to make things right with the Negative Spirit. It stayed here for you."

Larry involuntarily touched his chest, where a dim light flashed immediately.

"No more hiding, Larry," Rita repeated. "We can't go back to what we used to be. It's time to become something else."

"I'm just a pilot, I can't do anything else," Larry said quietly.

Rita smiled one of her beautiful smiles and patted Larry's bandaged hand reassuringly:

"That's in the past!"

She rose from the couch and walked gracefully across the room to the small tape recorder. Larry remained sitting and staring at the floor in front of him. Rita clicked buttons, and the tender sounds of piano filled the living room. A moment later Rita's open hand appeared in front of Larry's face. He looked up at her. Rita stood expectantly beside, inviting him to dance. Johnny Mathis's thrilling voice flowed from the tape recorder. Larry put his hand into Rita's and got up from the couch. They took a step into the unfurnished space of the living room, and Rita laid her hands on his shoulders. Larry put his arms gently around her waist.

And so they danced slowly in the dim room, thinking very different thoughts.


	14. Moulin Rouge!

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **_"You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs…"_

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**Moulin Rouge!**

* * *

**1:01 PM / April 2, 2019**

Rita swirls a glass of wine while staring contemplatively at the television screen.

The music of_ Moulin Rouge! _resonates from the speakers. On the screen, Christian tries to woo the lovely Satine with his _Elephant Love Medley_. Rita has always wanted to star in a musical. Her mother had her join singing and dancing classes when she was young for this reason. Those lessons were some of the few genuinely enjoyable things she did as an aspiring actress. Sadly, she never got the chance to show off her skills on stage.

_"You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs…"_

Rita's mind wanders to Steve Dayton. She imagines herself in the role of Satine, Steve in the role of Christian.

But no, that doesn't fit. In fact, it's almost laughable.

At the time, when Rita and Steve were having their affair, it really felt like they loved each other. She used to think that Steve was the loveliest, most charming man in the world. But after decades of self-reflection and experience, Rita acknowledges it for what it really was: a fling, a source of easy comfort during some of the darkest days in her life. Her heart will always have a soft spot for Steve, despite how things ended the last time they saw each other. A part of her aches at the thought of Steve spending the last of his days inside a crumbling building, living a self-made lie, but…

_"We can be heroes, forever and ever..."_

Despite how she acts, Rita is well aware of what she has now. She has Larry, Jane, Cliff, even Vic. (Maybe even the Chief, if they ever find the man.) She's selfish, she always has been—she can't sacrifice what she has now for a man like Steve. She likes Steve, but she _loves_ her (dare she say it?) family.

Rita sighs slightly. She needs to stop thinking about Steve whenever she watches anything even slightly romantic. She leans back on the couch and clears her head, taking a sip of wine as the musical duet winds down with Christian and Satine crooning softly at each other. She smiles fondly at their love. Maybe someday, she'll find her own Christian. But for now, she's content with her strange little family.

_"How wonderful life is, now you're in the world…"_


	15. Zodiac

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **A serial killer picks the wrong target and gets his comeuppance.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**Zodiac**

* * *

**July 29, 2016 / 3:12 PM**

It is a hot, humid afternoon. An battered black car is parked in an otherwise empty parking lot beside a pizza place. Inside, a woman in black sits on the driver's seat, feet up on the wheel, watching the movie _Zodiac_ on her phone. In the backseat are piles upon piles of pizza boxes. The windows of the car are all rolled down, sharing the delectable scent of freshly baked pepperoni pizza to the world. It should be boiling inside the vehicle, but the woman doesn't seem to be bothered by the heat.

Another car drives into the lot, parking a few spots behind the woman. A forgettable man wearing a sweaty, white button up shirt, brown khakis, and a beat up messenger bag steps out. He seemingly heads for the nearby pizza place before ducking into a copse of trees. He deftly navigates through the green until he closes in on the only other car in the lot. He emerges quietly from his cover, still managing to be unremarkable in the despite the emptiness of the area. The woman continues to watch her movie.

He creeps up behind the oblivious woman. In his hand is a wickedly sharp kitchen knife, perfect for slitting throats. The man keeps low, intending to surprise the woman from below the window. He imagines jumping up, the woman screaming in surprise. His heart pounds as he envisions slicing his knife across the woman's throat, relishing the sweet, dying gargles of his unfortunate victim, as five other women before her had done. He licks his lips. He is directly below the open window now. All he has to do is to jump up…

"Fuck off," the woman hisses.

The man feels a sudden stinging pain in his throat. Choking on blood, he looks down to see a sharp metal object, shaped like the words "FUCK OFF," suddenly lodged in his throat.

"Wait, what?" The woman mutters.

The man slides down to the ground. He drops his knife. His hands fly to his neck in a futile attempt to keep the blood inside his body.

"Goddammit, you made me miss the FBI dude." The woman opens the car door roughly, pushing the bleeding man away from her car, and closing it again. She returns to her movie.

The serial killer keels over and dies.


	16. Martians Attack!, starring Rita Farr

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **Rita enjoys watching this movie not because of its artistic merit, but because of the incredulous reactions it elicits in other people.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**Martians Attack!, starring Rita Farr**

* * *

**September 1, 1971 / 10:04 PM**

On the screen, Rita Farr, in her role as Betty, the hero's love interest and designated damsel in distress, runs beautifully through a crowd of panicking extras (in high heels). She screams dramatically as a big, scary Martian singles her out from the crowd, grabs her by the waist, and sweeps her off to the spaceship that's currently terrorizing the City.

_"Oh, no!"_ she cries. _"Patrick, save me!"_

Patrick, the dashing male lead, shoots a Martian with his revolver as he struggles through dozens of armed aliens to get to Betty. He roars when he sees her disappear into the spaceship. _"I'll save you, Betty! I won't let these Martians turn you into one of their concubines!"_

On the couch, Larry watches with a deadpan expression. His face is covered in bandages, but Rita knows him well enough to read his facial expressions through body language. Rita enjoys watching this movie not because of its artistic merit, but because of the incredulous reactions it elicits in other people.

"I still can't believe you starred in this movie," Larry muses.

Rita shrugs. "It allowed me to diversify my acting portfolio."

"You were at a low point in your career and you couldn't get better acting roles."

She sniffs elegantly. "My career has no low points… though I admit there _was_ a stretch of time when various directors failed to appreciate my acting skills."

They lapse into a comfortable silence, watching as Patrick manages to sneak into the spaceship. He evades the Martian guards and somehow makes his way towards exactly where Betty is being kept.

"Do you ever wonder what actual aliens would think about your movie?" Larry asks.

"Obviously, they'd like it."

Patrick rescues Betty from the evil Martians, blowing up the spaceship in the process and saving the City from the Martian invasion.

The film rolls the credits, and Rita turns to Larry. "Verdict, Mr. Trainor?"

"… I think your acting is the best part of the movie," Larry offers.

Years later, the Martian Manhunter would watch _Martians Attack! _at the behest of the Flash_,_ and agree.


	17. Clue

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary: **In which Cliff tries to sound like a concerned citizen and not a murderer.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**Clue**

* * *

**March 10, 1999 / 6:53 PM**

Cliff is alone, watching _Clue_ on the television, when a knock from the front door echoes into the living room. For a split second, he wonders if Jane is visiting, then he remembers that Jane never knocks on the door. He forces his mechanical body up from his special chair and yells, "I'll get it!"

He stumbles to the foyer, opens the front door, and is promptly shot by a red-shoed man with a gun.

Cliff doesn't even blink. He reflexively punches the man's face hard enough to cave in his skull. He catches the suddenly limp body and drags it back inside the manor, panicking all the while.

"FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK—!"

"What was that!" Rita calls from upstairs.

"Dude with a gun shot me!" Cliff shouts. "It's okay, he's dead now!"

"Oh, for the love of…" Footsteps thunder down the stairs. Rita and Larry arrive just in time to see Cliff dropping the body of a man wearing bright red shoes on the couch in the living room.

"Cliff, what have you done?" Larry says, dismayed. "It's going to take ages to wash the bloodstains out!"

Cliff does his best to make an incredulous face. "I think we have slightly more important things to worry about than the goddamn couch. Like, oh, I don't know, _the guy I just killed?_"

Rita approaches the dead man with a disgusted expression. "You couldn't have killed him in a less disturbing manner? His face looks like something out of a horror film!"

"I repeat, _I just killed a man._"

"He did try to shoot you," Larry points out. "Speaking of which, why did he do that?"

"I don't fucking know!"

Another knock from the door.

"FUCK!"

"See who it is," Rita orders Cliff. "We'll take care of Mr. Dead Man here."

Cliff wipes his bloody hand on the dead man's hoodie and rushes to the foyer. He opens the door and drops another load of f-bombs.

The police officer, a young woman with tired eyes, blinks at Cliff's expletives and rather strange appearance.

Cliff clears his throat. "Uh, can I help you?"

The police officer introduces herself. "Sir, my name is Officer Bhandari. I just want to warn you about a dangerous man who's been seen in the area. White man in his forties, five foot nine, last seen wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and bright red shoes. He might have a gun with him."

Fuck.

"Oh, that sounds terrible." Cliff does his best to sound like a concerned citizen and not a murderer. "We haven't seen a man like that around here, but we'll keep an eye out." He tries to block the police officer's view of the living room, but she catches sight of a bloody man sitting on the couch and shoulders her way into the manor, looking alarmed.

Bhandari steps into the living room and stares at Rita, who's "making out" with the dead man. Clearly, the other two have been listening to Cliff's conversation, because the dead body was only wearing a green t-shirt, jeans, and socks. A couple of bottles of wine have been placed on the coffee table. The television is still playing _Clue_. Larry enters the room carrying a bowl of chips.

Rita, seeing Bhandari, draws away from the dead man and pretends to be flustered at being caught making out. "Oh dear, I didn't know we were having guests today." She blushes prettily for effect.

Larry, who has set down the bowl of chips and is now just awkwardly standing off to the side, doesn't say anything. He kicks the man's hoodie and shoes behind the couch, out of Bhandari's sight.

The police officer stares at Cliff's robot body, Rita's fifties style dress, Larry's bandages, and the unknown man's bloody face.

"We're having a Halloween party," Larry blurts.

"… In March?"

"Yes," Rita says firmly. She shifts, and the man's head lolls unnaturally to the side.

Cliff laughs loudly, drawing Bhandari's attention to him. "Oh, look at Johnny over there, looks like he's fallen asleep. Must've had a bit too much fun, if you know what I mean. Haha, good ol' Johnny."

Bhandari nods slowly. She's clearly weirded out, but is too polite to say anything. "Well, as long as everyone's okay, I'll leave you folks to your… Halloween party."

Cliff escorts her out the door. Bhandari bids him a safe night and drives off in her police car. Cliff waves her off, closes the door, sighs in relief, and walks back to the living room. The coast clear, Rita stops acting and plasters on a face of pure disgust. She unlatches her arms from the dead body.

"Get this bloody man off my dress."

Larry pulls the corpse off Rita and none too gently tosses it to Cliff's feet. The robot man sighs again and picks up the body. He'll put it in the basement until they can figure out a way to dispose of it. Before leaving, he leaves the other two residents one last comment.

"A Halloween party in March? Really, guys?"


	18. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

**Disclaimer: **Doom Patrol is not mine.

**Summary:** The Negative Spirit tries to celebrate Halloween.

**Author's Note: **One day late, but happy Halloween!

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown**

* * *

**October 31, 1979 / 3:20 AM**

Jane munches on popcorn as Linus Van Pelt drags Sally Brown to the pumpkin field to wait for the Great Pumpkin. Beside her, Larry fiddles with a colourful cube puzzle of some sort, not really paying attention to the movie. The volume is turned down low to prevent Rita from waking up and discovering their illicit activity.

She doesn't blink when the smell of ozone fills the air as the Negative Spirit phases out of Larry and fucks off to who knows where.

About fifteen minutes later, the Spirit returns with a gargantuan pumpkin cradled carefully in its ethereal arms. It probably came from the pumpkin patch Larry has recently started cultivating. It places the pumpkin on the coffee table in front of Jane, who is now watching with curiosity. The Spirit turns the pumpkin around to show a stereotypical Halloween pumpkin face carved on the surface. Jane leans closer and notes the burnt edges of the eyes, nose, and mouth. The inside of the pumpkin had been gutted and within it is a single, flickering candle.

The Spirit seems to nod to itself before going back inside Larry.

Jane flicks her eyes back to the screen as Larry cricks his head and jolts at the jack-o'-lantern on the coffee table. "Did you make this just now?" he asks.

"No."

"Then…" He stops, the answer to his questions dawning on him.

Jane leans back on the couch and rests her feet on the coffee table. "Not that I care, but I think it's a peace offering. It's trying to celebrate Halloween with you."

Larry stares at the pumpkin before turning his attention back to the screen.

They finish _It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_ in silence.

The next morning, Larry is rooting out his pumpkin patch. Jane watches him from the porch, radiating disapproval but doing nothing to stop him. It's not any of her business, after all.


End file.
